


Golden Moments

by julien (julie)



Series: Golden Delicious [2]
Category: due South
Genre: Episode: s01e16 The Blue Line, Filling In the Gaps, Friends With Benefits, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-02-07
Updated: 1999-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:47:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22948030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julie/pseuds/julien
Summary: Mark Smithbauer’s life is rapidly going to hell… which is when Benton Fraser unexpectedly appears. At first his old friend seems like nothing more than yet another disastrous complication, but eventually it seems that Benton might actually be able to help Mark turn things around.
Relationships: Benton Fraser/Mark Smithbauer, Benton Fraser/Ray Vecchio
Series: Golden Delicious [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1649182
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Golden Moments

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes:** Inspired by episode 116 _The Blue Line_. 
> 
> **First published:** 7 February 1999 in my zine Pure Maple Syrup 8.

# Golden Moments 

♦

It wasn’t often that Mark Smithbauer had moments like this; he could count the golden moments he’d had in his life on the fingers of one hand. He was here, right _here_ and right _now_ , right in the heart of the moment itself, and he knew exactly what he wanted, exactly what he dreamed of, and it was all within his grasp. He didn’t even need to be brave, he barely even needed to reach out; all he had to do was live it.

For one perfect golden moment, Mark rediscovered his intense love for hockey, he loved the game of hockey for its own sake, and nothing mattered more than the last nine seconds of this game, nothing mattered at all other than scoring the winning points…

Of course then the moment was over and cold grey reality set in, and Mark remembered. He’d taken money from Turk Broda to throw this game, and he’d gone along with that for fifty-nine minutes and fifty-one seconds… And now he was in deep trouble.

The one thing about life that Mark Smithbauer couldn’t avoid was this: just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, it always did. Without fail.

♦

He offered to give the money back to the Turk, and make good what the Turk had lost in betting on the game, even though that would mean falling hopelessly into debt, but the goons just laughed at him. It was suggested, in no uncertain terms, that people who let Turk Broda down rarely survived long enough to make amends.

Which was, of course, when the assassination attempts began. Mark was almost run down by a car during his regular morning jog, and there was no way the car’s moves were anything other than deliberate; what with his bad knee, Mark had only just gotten out of the way both times the car had come at him. Then there was a guy with a gun in a liquor store, though no one seemed to believe him that it was anything other than an attempted robbery.

And that was when Benton Fraser walked back into Mark’s life. Ben walked into Mark’s apartment along with a police detective and a wolf; pretty Ben, resplendent in his Mountie uniform, and, unlike some people Mark could name, utterly untouchable… Mark hated him in that moment, that dark blighted moment, and he did the only thing he could think of – he pretended not to recognize the man who used to be his best friend. The man who used to be Mark’s other dream.

They talked, they exchanged words, but Mark wasn’t really paying attention. For a start he was so damned scared of the Turk’s assassins, so damned frustrated with Chicago’s finest, so damned angry with himself, and of course on top of that his memory was throwing gut-deep visions at him: Ben excited and eager under his hands, those lips stung with Mark’s kisses, those blue eyes gazing up at him in adoration… That entire night they’d spent together at the Inuvik school had been one endless beautiful golden moment. But then there was the equally strong moment the next evening, the dark moment, in which Mark had pushed Ben away, knowing that he could only have one of his two dreams, not both.

Despite all of that, or maybe because of it, Ben was the only one who believed Mark’s claim that someone was trying to kill him – the cops just laughed the whole thing off. So, ignoring the man’s polite protestations, Mark hired Ben as his bodyguard. If he couldn’t trust the son of upright uptight Robert Fraser to protect him, then Mark was truly lost. He didn’t want to forfeit Ben’s respect along with everything else, though, so Mark lied to him, and lied again… ashamed of what he’d become. Ashamed that, in his fear and confusion at the liquor store, Mark had lashed out at someone and hurt him, and that someone had turned out to be his old friend Ben, and that pretty face was scarred now… Ashamed that he yelled and hollered and ranted, and never once told the truth. Never once acknowledged his friend.

There was another attempt to run Mark down as he left the hockey stadium after a practice session one night. Yet again, the cops wouldn’t take his claims of attempted murder seriously. ‘Well,’ said Detective Gardino, ‘if we arrested everybody who hated you, we’d pretty much have to shut down this city, huh?’

Mark demanded, ‘It’s your job to protect me.’

‘We seem to have a difference of opinion.’ Gardino went through this cute little case open, case closed routine, making his partner laugh.

‘You know, if this was anyone else on the team, you’d be on the case around the clock.’

‘Ironic, isn’t it?’ Gardino commented.

Mark left, slamming the door behind him in disgust. What Gardino and Huey didn’t know was that the disgust centered mainly on Mark Smithbauer himself. He had gotten himself into this stupid situation, and he was fast running out of people who could help him get out.

♦

The apartment on West Racine was drab and bare, and the entire thing was about half the size of Mark’s bedroom. He walked in and said, ‘Hello, Ben.’ Looking around, he asked, ‘Do you live like this?’

Ben didn’t reply, no doubt still surprised about Mark calling him by name. He sat up on the side of his bed, more comfortable in his red long-johns than Mark was fully-dressed.

‘Somebody’s still after me,’ Mark told him.

‘You should go to the police,’ was Ben’s advice.

‘Yeah, I did. They’re not big fans of mine.’

‘You don’t seem to engender friendship, do you?’

Finally Mark confessed, ‘I need your help.’

‘I really can’t help you.’

Something in Mark sank. Ben had been his last chance. ‘Looks like I’m not the only one who changed, eh?’ Mark said, heading for the door.

‘– unless you tell me the truth.’

Another lie; or at least a half-lie. Mark explained that two men approached him about throwing the game, and they’d been after him ever since, despite his refusal… Ben wouldn’t help him if he knew the actual truth. Surely Ben wouldn’t have anything more to do with him.

But at least Ben took the danger seriously, along with Mark’s protestations of innocence. ‘I think you should stay here tonight,’ Ben said, reaching for his bed-roll.

It was like old times. They talked, with Mark stretched out on the bed, and Ben on the bed-roll on the floor, a hurricane lamp casting a soft glow between them. At last Mark felt comfortable enough to admit, ‘When you came by, I remembered you, you know that…’

Ben nodded, not judging him for it. ‘I know.’

For a while, Mark tried to outstare Ben’s wolf Diefenbaker, who was apparently an ardent hockey fan, but it was impossible. ‘Too much,’ Mark said, lying back on the bed. He tried to settle, but that was just as impossible. ‘I can’t sleep.’

‘What is it?’

He looked at his watch, and explained, ‘It’s seven P.M.’

‘Oh.’

Mark considered his friend, the first guy he’d ever kissed or made love to. The memories of that long-ago night were no doubt enhanced by the rush of thirteen-year-old hormones, the fact that for one golden moment he’d thought he could have it all. Nothing and no one else had ever come close to the sensations, the freedom, the joy of it. Mark had spent the intervening years guiltily, furtively seeking release with anonymous men, praying they wouldn’t recognize him and blow his cover. The merest hint that a prospect was a hockey fan was enough to send Mark scurrying for the door… And, all the while, Benton Fraser loomed large in his fantasies.

Knowing that Ben still cared for him, at least in some small way, Mark dared to say, ‘Get up here, Ben. I can’t talk to you all the way down there.’

And Ben swung round to look up at him, obviously remembering the night when Mark last said those words… Ben lifted himself up – but only to sit cross-legged on the bed-roll. He tilted his head, considering something.

Mark shifted so that he was lying face down, with his head at the foot of the bed again. If Ben wanted to talk about this, they would talk. Mark began by murmuring, ‘Are you gonna let me, pretty Ben?’

‘The situation… has changed somewhat.’

‘Oh. You don’t love me like you did, eh?’

A gentle smile softened the blow. ‘In many ways I do, Mark. But I am in love with someone else, and I don’t believe that will change.’

‘And…?’

‘And, well, he doesn’t know. He’s not… He wouldn’t be interested.’

‘That’s _his_ loss,’ Mark declared. ‘If he’s not smart enough to know what he’s missing, that’s no concern of mine. You want to get up here with me, Ben?’

‘Yes.’ The reply was so swift it couldn’t be anything other than heartfelt. ‘That is, if you don’t mind that I…’

‘That you’ll be thinking of someone else? Serves me right. All this time, I’ve been thinking of you, no matter who I was with.’

Something in Ben’s expression broke apart in grief and compassion. He got to his feet, graceful and strong, and then came to the bed. As he lay down on his back beside Mark, Ben promised in a murmur, ‘I won’t be thinking of anyone but you.’ And they kissed, a sweet hungry kiss echoing back and forth over the years, and Ben’s arms lifted around Mark, encompassing him, loving him, and it was perfect…

…except for one thing. That damned wolf wouldn’t stop staring, and in fact seemed to be staring even harder now that the main event had begun. ‘Ben,’ Mark broke away to say, ‘I can’t perform with an audience. At least, not anything other than hockey.’

Ben tilted his head back to look at the wolf. ‘Diefenbaker, please. We would appreciate a little privacy.’

No response but for those eyes glowing gold.

Sighing, Ben got up off the bed. ‘Dief, you’ll have to wait outside.’ He headed over to open the door, and at last the wolf reluctantly followed him, head hanging dispiritedly. ‘Just give us an hour, and I promise I’ll let you in again. Maybe, if you’re very good, Mark will come to the park with us tomorrow.’

A yap from the wolf, and then Dief was outside, and the door was firmly closed.

Ben walked back to the bed, sexy in his red long-johns… Mark lifted his arms, and as soon as Ben was in reach he grabbed the guy, joyfully wrestled him down. Not that Ben was struggling: those arms held on firmly around Mark’s shoulders, and his kiss was returned with enthusiasm, and the glow in those blue eyes was almost everything that Mark had ever desired. And then Ben whispered, ‘Tonight, we can go all the way if you like…’

♦

Afterwards Ben lay in his embrace, naked and beautiful; and in this moment at least Ben belonged utterly to Mark. Into the accepting hush, Mark said, ‘I’m sorry I turned you away like that. You know, the night after we…’

‘I know,’ Ben said quietly.

A decades-long burden lifted from Mark’s heart; it was that easy. Ben made it that easy. ‘And I’m sorry I never answered your letter,’ Mark continued. ‘I kept it, I read it so often I knew it off by heart, I would have slept with it under my pillow except John would have found it… Brothers: you’re better off without them.’

Ben smiled up at him; gentle, so damned gentle.

Mark blurted out more of the truth. ‘I never had more than two dreams, but only one of them could come true. I couldn’t have you _and_ hockey. At least, I figured the only way of having both was if you’d put hockey first, like I did. But you didn’t, eh?’

‘No,’ Ben whispered.

‘You’re not gay, are you, Ben?’

‘No. Bisexual.’

Mark nodded; he’d guessed as much when they were thirteen. ‘I’ve been gay all my life, or at least as long as I can remember, and I have no idea why they call it that because it’s never brought me much happiness.’ He let out a sigh. ‘I chose hockey, and that was OK because I loved hockey; but I’ve been living a lie for the sake of my career, for the sponsorships. No one’s gonna want a gay guy doing any endorsements for them… But no matter how much money I make, I can’t seem to manage it, there never seems to be enough. I hand it out to everyone around me, and still they want more… Everything’s been getting darker and darker, more and more confusing…’

Benton Fraser was looking at him with those guileless blue eyes, and he didn’t even seem wary of what Mark might tell him. Well, the Mountie was clever enough to figure it all out from there, even if Ben was the most trusting and loving of souls.

Shifting closer, Mark kissed the man, reveling in his possession of those pretty lips, that hot mouth. Ben snuggled up to him, comforting, welcoming, exciting, surrendering. Pulling away for a moment, Mark stretched, from the top of his spine right down to his toes. ‘I feel better than I have for years,’ he declared, with all his unquenchable teenage energy returning to him. There’d be time for more of this, with Ben, later. Plenty more of this. For now – ‘Let’s go shoot some goals!’

Ben looked surprised, but of course he was amenable. Sweet, pretty Ben was always amenable to whatever Mark wanted.

♦

It wasn’t hard to figure out who Ben was in love with – the lucky guy was the best friend Ben had made here in Chicago, Detective Ray Vecchio. Who seemed safely oblivious to the situation.

Though Vecchio certainly wasn’t stupid. The Detective figured out that Mark had taken the money from the Turk, figured it out before the Mountie did, Vecchio being of a more suspicious turn of mind. Nevertheless, Vecchio did everything he could to help Ben protect Mark. He was a decent guy, no doubt untouchable; Ben had made a better choice this time.

There was one last attempt on Mark’s life; but, between them, Mark and Ben and Vecchio dealt with it, and then Vecchio made the arrests. It was over.

Except that Ben finally knew the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth… It was obvious in the disappointment on his face. Mark had gone to Ben’s apartment to thank him, and to see whether there might be some kind of future for them, given that Ben was apparently intending for Vecchio to remain in the dark… And Mark was met with Ben’s demand, ‘You took the money from Broda, didn’t you?’

Mark tried to bluff his way through, fearing he’d die a little if Ben really believed the worst of him. ‘How can you say that? You saw the tape, I scored the winner. What are you talking about?’

Having gone to fetch the milk, Ben actually slammed the refrigerator door closed. He was angry… And then he just looked directly at Mark until he caved in.

Hanging his head, Mark wandered away. It was easier to say it at a distance. ‘I needed the cash badly. I didn’t think it mattered. I didn’t think anything mattered anymore. And for fifty-nine minutes I did exactly what they wanted. And then the crowd started counting down the seconds, and I was back on that pond, and nothing in my whole life mattered more than those last nine seconds. It didn’t seem to make much difference when I told them they could keep the money.’ He looked up at Ben. ‘Are you gonna turn me in?’

Ben said he wouldn’t, because there was no evidence of a conspiracy, and the Turk was hardly going to testify against himself. But it was obvious that he knew what was right and what was wrong. And, surprisingly enough, Mark found that he did, too.

♦

Detective Gardino almost quit giving Mark a hard time when Mark went into the police station and announced that he’d testify against Turk Broda. Almost. The guy gazed up at Mark with something approaching awe, then finally said, ‘Well, what do you know? You _are_ as stupid as you look.’

‘Let me get this straight,’ Lieutenant Welsh said, ‘you want immunity from prosecution in return for testifying against him about the bribe as well as the attempted murder?’

‘Whatever.’ Mark shrugged. ‘Whatever it takes, whatever I have to do to put this right. If you have to charge me, too, I’ll deal with it.’

Welsh continued, ‘You realize this will probably be futile? We’ve tried taking Broda down before: he has the best lawyers money can buy. You could be throwing your reputation away for nothing.’

‘I know. But I’ve got to try.’

Ben was standing firm at his side, and what else could Mark ask for? ‘I’ve always admired you for your courage and determination,’ Ben said as he walked Mark out of the station.

‘Yeah, well, it won’t make any difference.’ Mark sighed, and stopped in his tracks for a moment. Every now and then the gravity of the situation almost sank him. ‘Everything always gets worse. Even when I try to do the best thing, it goes bad.’

‘Not always,’ Ben assured him. ‘I can speak from personal experience. That’s not always the case.’

♦

There were interviews and interrogations and hearings, with the cops and with the National Hockey League’s board of management; there were judgements handed down. Even though the police weren’t charging him, Mark was given a lifetime suspension from playing hockey. There was a major press conference – which was all the harder to handle because, as soon as Mark had told her he was testifying against the Turk, his media relations agent had dropped him from her client list… So long, Dawn Charest. It’s been very.

Even though he was doing the right thing, it felt like one dark moment after another.

Ben came to see him after the press conference. There he was, resplendent in his dress uniform, saying, ‘I’m sorry it had to turn out this way.’

‘This is the only way it _could_ have turned out,’ Mark replied. He felt kind of empty now that it was all finished. Well, the court case wouldn’t start for months yet, but otherwise everything was done with.

‘I brought you something.’ And Ben handed over a set of baseball cards, with Mark’s rookie card on top…

Mark looked through them all. ‘My entire career in cards. That must have set you back a few bucks, eh?’

‘Three dollars and fifty cents,’ Ben said, ‘Canadian. I got them as they came out. Seeing your face on them made me, um… made me feel proud.’

‘I can’t take these, eh?’ He’d sell them, as Ben probably intended him to, and make some much-needed cash, but that didn’t seem fair.

Nevertheless, Ben wouldn’t take them back. ‘Oh, I’m still proud. Besides,’ he added, ‘I’ve got a-whole-nother set of them back home.’

Mark laughed, collected his bag, and began walking out. On the way, he patted Ben’s red-serge shoulder; then Mark wrapped his hand round Ben’s nape, remembering that very first night when he’d drawn Ben close for a kiss. But despite Mark trying to do the right thing now, and despite Ben’s earnest friendship, Ben wasn’t Mark’s to love. Mark could figure at least that much out.

‘Thanks,’ Mark said, heading out alone.

‘What are you going to do?’ Ben called after him.

‘I don’t know.’

♦

And that was the problem. Mark had never known about anything other than hockey, he’d never been good at anything else. So what was he left with now?

That night found him with a stick and some pucks, practicing on a frozen pond in the middle of Chicago, with some kid who didn’t even recognize him. ‘Are you somebody?’ the kid asked, when Mark offered him an autographed puck.

‘Nah,’ Mark said, not really minding anymore. He still felt extraordinarily empty. It was even getting so that he didn’t mind all that much. It was the most peaceful he’d felt in years. Decades. ‘You want to play a little?’ he asked.

‘It’s kind of dark, isn’t it?’

‘OK, Ray!’ came Ben’s cry – and the Mountie was skating across the pond, while Vecchio’s car headlamps were turned on to provide light. The Riviera wasn’t a tractor, but it would do.

Mark and Ben had a great deal of fun, playing against the kid and Vecchio. Not that it was much of a game, because Vecchio was all but useless on the ice, and the kid was more enthusiasm than skill. But it was fun. Mark hadn’t felt this light-hearted since Inuvik. No matter what, Mark had a few genuine friends. He knew that now. The moment definitely qualified as a golden one.

♦

After the game, Ben was permitted to drive the Riviera, given that poor Vecchio was almost crippled by his hockey injuries; Mark understood that this was significant evidence of Vecchio’s trust in Ben. Vecchio curled up in the passenger seat, and, after passing on various bits of advice – to all of which Ben politely replied, ‘Yes, Ray’ – the cop fell asleep.

Without any untoward driving incidents, they took the kid home, and then Mark was dropped off outside his apartment building. Oh yeah, Mark was gonna have to give up his penthouse apartment just as soon as he could get out of the lease… Ben had to get out of the car, of course, to shift the seat forward so that Mark could clamber out from the back. The two of them stood on the sidewalk for a moment, alone but for the snoring Vecchio and the security guard in the building’s foyer.

Mark leaned close to press a kiss to Ben’s pretty lips; but it was simply a friendly kiss, a farewell kiss. He straightened again, and laughed, and then complained as if they’d been having a lengthy argument about the matter, ‘But he can’t even play hockey, Ben. Are you sure he’s the one?’

‘Yes.’ Ben ducked his head for a moment. ‘You should see him on a basketball court: he becomes as graceful as a thoroughbred.’

‘Yeah, well, maybe I should see that.’

‘I think you should.’

‘Call me, then,’ Mark said as he backed away towards the front door. ‘We’ll have a game. When he’s all in one piece again.’

‘I will,’ Ben vowed. And he smiled, and nodded goodnight, before slipping into the Riviera and driving smoothly away from the curb.

♦

Wondering who else he’d be able to count on as a friend, Mark took the chance of dropping by a certain photographer’s studio. ‘Hello, Stephen,’ he said, when the photographer opened the door.

‘Well, well,’ Stephen replied in measured tones, not inviting him in. ‘Mike. I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again.’ In fact he hadn’t seen Mark since the morning after the night they’d met at a discreet club.

‘Yeah, well, I didn’t think so, either.’

‘But here you are.’

Mark said, ‘My days of hit-and-run are over.’

‘That’s good to hear, Mike.’

Hanging his head for a moment, Mark smiled. ‘We both know that’s not my name. It’s Mark. Mark Smithbauer.’

The two of them looked at each other, Stephen not making any bones about the fact that he was assessing Mark. In turn, Mark gazed unabashedly at Stephen, who was a handsome kind of guy, with his blond hair and warm brown eyes. He had the merit of hardly reminding Mark at all of Ben, except for his honesty and decency – Mark figured he must like Stephen for his own sake. And even though they’d only spent the one night together, he remembered they _had_ liked each other…

At last Stephen nodded. ‘I know who you are; you were on the news.’ Another moment of consideration. ‘I was impressed. You were very brave.’

‘You don’t know the half of it.’

‘Come in,’ Stephen said, and at last he tentatively smiled.

Mark stepped over the threshold, and began wandering around the front room while Stephen poured them each a drink. This guy Stephen, he wouldn’t know a puck from a football, but he sure knew photography. The pictures on display were all quite breath-taking. Many of them were male nudes.

‘I was thinking about what you said,’ Mark told him when Stephen brought his nip of spirits over, ‘about shooting me. I mean photographs,’ he added, though Stephen couldn’t know there’d been other kinds of shooting in Mark’s recent past. ‘You said you could develop a real classy portfolio for me.’

The pleasant face was still a tad wary. ‘Maybe that was just a pick-up line.’

‘No, it wasn’t,’ Mark murmured confidently, meeting the man’s gaze. ‘You said you sold a lot of work to _Kew_.’

‘But that’s a gay magazine.’

‘It would be one hell of a way to come out, eh?’

Stephen considered this, startled; but after a moment or two his smile grew. ‘That would be brave, too.’

‘I can’t live the lies anymore,’ Mark confessed. ‘I blew the money thing wide open; I may as well blow this little secret, too.’

‘ _Kew_ would pay you. Actually, with the right kind of interview, they’d pay you a lot for an exclusive.’

‘Well, that wouldn’t hurt right now. I’m in all kinds of trouble, financially at least. I’m trying to get it sorted out, though.’

Stephen nodded. ‘I’ll help,’ he said. ‘I’ll help you.’ A moment passed in which one or both of them reached out to clasp their free hands together, more in a pledge and a reassurance than a handshake. Mark leaned in to press a lingering kiss to Stephen’s temple; expressing both gratitude and a promise… Then Stephen turned away. ‘What were you thinking of? Something out in the wilds somewhere, you’re an element of nature? Or something in the city, you’re industrial strength? Or – what am I saying? That’s all _so_ cliché now… We need something new.’

Mark followed the man, smiling. The artist was already at work. Anything of a more personal nature would have to wait.

♦

Ray Vecchio was, as advertised, gorgeous on a basketball court. He had a style and an energy and a talent that wasn’t in evidence when he was on skates. Ben raised his brow at Mark, as if to say, _Didn’t I tell you?_ And Mark grinned in happy agreement.

They had a good game, two on two; and even though Mark insisted on playing with Ben, and Vecchio was saddled with some college girl who’d been sitting on the benches, Vecchio and the kid won. It was hardly even close.

Mark didn’t care – he and Ben had begun playing a different game. It was about who could cast the most admiring looks at various portions of Vecchio’s anatomy, and who could silently or verbally make the most appreciative comments, without alerting him or the girl to the fact. And then Mark took it one step further, though Ben was patently disapproving. The game became about how often Mark could push or rub up against Vecchio, or send Ben crashing into him, without letting it appear there was anything other than basketball going on…

Afterwards, they gathered by Vecchio’s bag, which miraculously contained a bottle of water for each of the four of them. Mark happily watched while Vecchio toweled off, though Ben was by now too self-conscious to even glance at the man. Vecchio tugged irritably at his t-shirt. ‘Why’d you tell me to wear this old thing, Benny? It’s too small.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, Ray,’ Ben managed, despite Mark’s laughter. ‘It’s just that green suits you.’

Yeah, Mark had to agree it did. Apart from which, the snug shirt showed off a decent amount of muscle definition for a guy who said he rarely worked out. And Vecchio had such delightfully broad shoulders for a slim man…

When the college student finally headed off to the showers, Vecchio turned on his companions, and glared at them. ‘What’s going on?’

Blank silence. Mark helpfully didn’t say anything: this was between Ben and Ray now. Eventually Ben faintly said, ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You heard me.’

‘Well, I, er –’

‘Come on, this isn’t just kidding around. You think I don’t notice all this rampant homoeroticism going on here?’

‘Oh,’ said Ben.

‘Are you guys reliving your wild days in the Runamukluk scout troop or something?’

Finally Ben gathered himself. ‘No, Ray. But, if you’ll permit me, this is neither the time nor the place for an explanation.’

‘Hell,’ Mark cut in with, ‘I need practice coming out. I’m gay, Vecchio. And I’ll be coming out to the whole world soon.’ He laughed as something occurred to him. ‘Ben, I’d better tell my dad first, eh?’

Ben just glanced at him, kind of pale.

Vecchio nodded, apparently having no issues in accepting Mark’s preferences. But then he looked at Ben. ‘And you…? Are you gay? Is that what this is about?’

‘Oh, I’m very happy, Ray.’

Mark snorted and burst into laughter.

Vecchio was staring suspiciously at Ben, knowing he’d just been rather weakly deflected. ‘Is this about you and him?’ he demanded.

‘No, Ray.’

‘Well,’ said Mark mischievously, ‘it was just the once, for old time’s sake.’

Ben looked as if he’d die. But he gathered himself and ever-so-gently said to Ray, ‘Let me tell you at home. This isn’t the best situation for a declaration of love.’

A sharp glance from Vecchio, from one to the other of them, before he was convinced that this wasn’t a joke. Then he huffed about a bit, as if barely and reluctantly satisfied with the outcome – which was obviously a sham, as Vecchio was already beginning to glow with pride. As well he should, having won Benton Fraser’s devotion. ‘Well, OK, then,’ Vecchio said. ‘But let’s get a coffee first. I can’t cope with this unfortified by caffeine.’

The three of them sat around a table at the sports center’s cafe, drinking espresso. Ben was getting used to the notion that the object of his affections was no longer oblivious. And Vecchio was so cool about it, Mark figured the guy hadn’t been as uninterested as advertised in any case. Ben was looking at Vecchio with something of the adoration that Mark himself used to find in those blue eyes… and Vecchio was glowing more and more as he began to see it for himself. Oh yeah, Mark would bet anything anyone cared to mention on Ben unexpectedly having a dream come true that night.

As for Mark himself… ‘Hey, I didn’t tell you guys the good news.’

Ben looked at him with polite but genuine interest. ‘Yes?’

‘Dawn Charest is back, and that means I’m no longer on the black list in this town.’ He grinned at the Mountie’s less-than-thrilled expression. ‘No, it’s good news, Ben. Some publishing company approached her; they want me to write my autobiography. With help from an actual writer, I’m glad to say. Seems that people want to know my story.’

‘Of course they do, Mark. You’re a hero.’

‘And the mayor called, too. He wants me on the Ethics in Sport Taskforce.’

Vecchio was shaking his head. ‘You mean, he asked you to _testify_ to the taskforce…’

‘No, he wants me _on_ the taskforce. Seems he’d like some real life experience to advise him, and he figures I must have _some_ ethics otherwise I wouldn’t have come clean about the Turk.’

‘Congratulations, Mark,’ Ben offered with a happy smile. ‘Everything is working out well.’

‘Yeah. I mean, my knee was giving me all kinds of trouble; as a hockey player I had a use-by date that was coming up fast. Maybe it’s all happened for the best, you know?’

‘Yes,’ said Ben, with a satisfied, confident look at both his companions. ‘It’s certainly all happened for the best.’ Which made it a golden moment and a half.

♦


End file.
